


Miss Jackson

by KnightOfBurgers



Series: Another Him-and-Her Story [3]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Aged Up Percy Jackson Character(s), Angst, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Canon-Typical Violence, Family, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of it, Post-Canon, Prophecies, Quests, Sass, good parenting, great parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27431743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightOfBurgers/pseuds/KnightOfBurgers
Summary: Percy's daughter is a difficult (and reluctant) demigod. This her story: The sassy, fourth-wall breaking, action-packed sequel to Riordanverse you never knew you needed.(Can be read independent of series.)
Relationships: Percy Jackson & Kori Jackson (Original Character)
Series: Another Him-and-Her Story [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837648
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Kori

**Author's Note:**

> This is a re-upload with a better prologue and better editing.

* * *

So... yeah. We're doing this. I wanna state for the record that I, Percy Jackson, am _totally_ against this. I mean, who would, in their right mind, _want_ to be a fourth-wall-breaking character in a _PJatO_ fanfiction, right? Not _me_. Wait, the author is telling me something. He says I'm not the protagonist and that this is just a prologue. Apparently, I'm not even gonna be able to break the fourth wall in the following chapters.

Well, poop.

Okay, so let's get on with what we're here for. I'm Percy Jackson, black hair, green eyes, half god. And thirty four years old, yeah. Wise Girl died a while back, and I'm (only sort of) over her. Paul and Mom are dead too, a few weeks after her. But I'm okay now, I swear. No really, trust me.

I retired from demigoding. (Hestia took it upon herself to make sure of that.) Zoë's sword is reunited with her in Elysium, I live in NYC, blah blah blah.

Now, the thing you're here for is...

I have a daughter! Her name is Kori, which literally means 'daughter' in Ancient Greek. I know, I know, so _uninspired_. But it was her mother's choice, and I had to just go with it. (I suspect she's actually named our daughter after herself, because one of her own alternate names was 'Kore', meaning maiden.)

And who is the mother?

It's Persephone.

Again: I know, I _know!_ What was wrong with me, right? Well, it was mostly a mistake. I was drunk on nectar and thought that it was a mortal and that it was a one night thing.

Turns out, the general social norm about having a baby—that you at least get to _know_ the person before doing it—gods don't follow that.

So... yeah. I raised Kori decent enough, kept her from demigoding, loved her as much as I could. I'd say I'm great at parenting.

Except for the swearing, that's... that's a failure. (Sorry for the f-bombs, readers.)

 _Any_ way, Kori Jackson is fourteen, untrained, sweary, sweet, fourth-wall-breaking, and pretty much just me. The following chapters are her story. Prepare to be amazed.

What do I do now, author? Just wait for them to go to the next chapter? Okay, will do. Wait, one question first, am I going to break at least _some_ fourth walls in the following chapters, too?

What do you mean 'Shut up'? _Fuck_ you, I won't shut up! I'll go on talking, you can't make me shut up you brainless son of a—

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Sorry, people, that guy just wasn't shutting up.
> 
> So... this is the prologue, and I think it gives you a nice glimpse at the story and how it's gonna be written. I have yet to find any long PJatO fanfics about breaking the fourth wall, so I made one up. Hope you have a good time.
> 
> Oh, and it does what it says on the tin: This is a sequel to Riordanverse. We'll have adventure, emotion, (some) romance, magic, all of it. Stay tuned!


	2. Monsters Love Ruining My Chill Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Spoiler Warning** : This is post-canon. There may be spoilers for _Trials of Apollo_ and _Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard_.
> 
>  **Note** : The first five chapters were written before reading _The Tower of Nero_.

* * *

The way I figure it, my problem is that I was literally _created_ to be a badass heroine in a crazy fanfiction.

Confused? Let's get the exposition out of the way. One, I hate fourth walls. I will demolish each that I encounter. So get ready for some snarky meta comments. Two, I'm Kori the daughter of the demigod Percy Jackson and the Greek goddess Persephone. That's all that's necessary right now; Further details will be revealed in a more traditional manner.

Anyway, back to my Problem (yes, capital P now). You see, I never wanted to get involved in all this adventure shit. I'm not a hobbit, I simply love mortal living more than a low life-expectancy. Add to this the fact that Dad isn't all that sunshine and flowers about the gods and demigods, and you can see why I don't want to be a protagonist. Especially in a fanfiction, where, more than in actual novels, characters' lives get screwed with up to and beyond the extremes of imaginable torment.

I mean, I love mortal life! I like four of my teachers out of seven, my father is easygoing, nonviolent, caring, I have a crush on a girl in school whom I've caught looking at me too, and people, in general, don't try to ingest and digest me.

Which brings us to right now. Where I'm running away from a _dracaena_ who almost got the jump on me while I was leaning against a pole having just caught Cassie my crush staring at me. Now, obviously Dad did not train me for a fight against monsters simply because he was and is trying to forget. But he did train me for a fight against humans—mugger, rapists, serial killers—and so I can run really fast.

And that was exactly what I am doing right now. I'm running like hell, because one of hell's is chasing me. (Like the wordplay?) As I turn a corner and see my house at the end of the street, I realise that the appearance of this monster means this story is about to turn towards the halfbloods' world, which means no more normal life, which in turn means that Cassie will be dumped as crush and I'll have another love interest—a demigod one—thrust upon me. But I like Cassie, damn it!

I wonder if this writer has planned me as bi? Guess we'll find out.

My plan is to burst into my house, scream like hell for my dad, and tell him to get rid of her, all the while maintaining such a trajectory that will allow me to escape fluidly and start sprinting toward his favored cafe if he's not at home and there instead and so on for other places. I'm confident I have the stamina to make it, but it's all in vain if the _dracaena_ has backup that'll ambush me and snatch me up before I can marathon through all the places Perseus Jackson can be.

Thankfully, Father is home. As soon as I kick open the door and rush in, yelling " _Dracaena_ -help-dad _-_ there's-a _-dracaena_!" (Did you think I'm not panicking? Hey, just because I can have coherent thoughts and can manage talking to you doesn't mean I'm not freaking out, _duh!_ ), a huge volume of water coalesces around me, transforming me from a girl to a mass of liquid about as graceful and hit-able and hurt-able as a sack of flour.

More water levitates towards the entrance and forms a crystal-clear door, likely to fool and trap the reptile-woman. My dad is not in sight. Is he having to focus a lot? I don't know his capabilities; he low-key _hates_ his powers and so I've never seen him wield them.

The water cushion stopped my run, but it's not actively hindering my movement or breathing right now, so I step into the adjoining rooms to see where he's at. I am amazed by his ability to perfectly encase me with water and make it follow me and create a water door of the exact dimensions as the original one without seeing me or it while summoning the water.

Why isn't he running down here to check up on me? He should've been concerned, fussing over me. But I've checked the entire first floor and he's nowhere.

I'm halfway up the staircase when I hear him yelling, "Kori! Where are you?"

His voice is coming from the door. I run downstairs and find him searching the house, presumably for me. But I already checked the first floor! How's he here?

"Dad! I'm here!" I call as I see him. He spins around when I shout, and relief floods his expression, and my water jacket disappears. I go to him, he comes to me. First a hug, then a few kiss to the forehead, then a damage-inspection and then the couch.

I ask him where was he and how did I miss him. He takes a sip of his water and tells me to do the same before he answers, "I heard your shout, created the door and casing, and jumped down to take her. Broke the second floor hallway window."

"Why did it take so long? You've said that you used to kill single monsters with a minute of chocking on water. What went wrong?" I feel kind of wrong making him remember his demigod stories, but I'm curious and concerned.

"Nothing went wrong." Dad places his empty glass on the table. "I wanted to know if there were more. She said she was alone. Then I had a random thought and asked her if she was acting on someone's orders for you specially. If this was some god or monster taking aim at you, we'd be in big trouble. Because that would mean a prophecy or vendetta."

"Is it? A prophecy or vendetta?" I ask, suddenly afraid once more, even though I know Dad will protect me.

"It's not," he declares, smiling crookedly, though not without some sadness in it.

I haven't calmed fully yet. "What's wrong?"

He looks away, into space. "You're growing. You'll need training. It's what every parent of a demigod dreads. We hope you'll be a normal kid with an advantage over the others—just in terms of safety from regular mortal evil, not schemes for grandeur, at least not for us. Even I, who caused so much suffering to Mom, naively hoped that you'd get your powers but have no need to use them."

Dad turns to me again, and the sorrow in his eyes is more than I think can ever be expressed by any number or tears. "But the Fates are here for their own reasons, and their justice dictates no good come without at _least_ a possibility of a greater suffering and at most the greatest tortures gods and mortals can devise."

He blinks forcefully, to focus or to get that sadness out of his eyes, I can't tell. I somehow know very viscerally the pain he spoke of, the pain that is my future. I would like to crack a joke or set him up for a stereotypical dad joke, but this air is grave.

And he's composed himself. Clearing his throat, Dad says, "I'll train you in your Poseidon powers. I don't know what your mother gave you. Nobody does, because you're her first. Demigod, I mean. Her _first_ was a nymph or Hades maybe." He tries to smirk at his own joke and I fake a small smile for him. He's going to face his most-hated parts in the near-future. For me.

"Let's hope it's more than just a knack for great flower placements." I wisecrack, and I think his grin turns a little less strained.

* * *

"What in the name of Poseidon's smelly socks just happened?"

I barely register Dad's weird way of cursing over the confusion and panic in my head. We are in our backyard, having completed a crash course in sword-fighting ("The bare necessities—they'll keep you alive till I can come to you.") and just started working on my powers. The first time I concentrated, I caused the dirty water in the pond to float up in a ball and fall back down. The second time I concentrated, shit hit the fan.

I point a shaky finger at the _thing_ and look at Dad disbelievingly. "Please tell me uncle Nico's visiting secretly. Please tell me this is a prank. Dad! Tell me this is a joke!"

He looks at me and the creature and me and the creature about a dozen times before responding. "She gave you control over Hades'," is his reply.

No. Just no. I will not accept that, and I will rail against that with all I have through all my life. I storm towards the stupid spirit, determining it to be the source of all my problems and my Problem. It's compliant, and within seconds my sword hacks through it. Still unsatisfied, I kick at the golden dust till it disappears too.

I realise I'm yelling "NO! NOT _ME_!" and things like that at the spot from where it appeared when Dad places a hand on my shoulder and the other clamps my mouth shut.

"Try to calm down, Kori," he says soothingly, releasing me and allowing me to hug him and break down, "I know you can't, not really, but just trying will help."

I am unconsolable. I know from his stories of the Seven that more power means more suffering. If I have both water and underworld magic, I'm doomed. "What am I going to do?!" I cry into his chest.

"What are _we_ going to do?" he corrects, and then adds, "I guess we should listen to Rachel's voicemail first.

Yes, that's productive. At least more so than crying and cursing. Rachel Elizabeth Dare the Oracle of Delphi and Dad's ex-crush and good ex-friend left a message a week ago, long before the _dracaena_ 's attack and the start of this chapter. Dad had noted it was the first in a long time, but archived and abandoned it on principle. I was fully supportive; don't try to dump quests on him, Chiron or whoever.

But now, it was hope: it could contain answers. So we gather our things—well, _his_ things 'cause I haven't chosen a weapon to be called 'mine' yet—and go back into the house and almost fall onto the couch and he opens his voicemail.

Rachel's voice is panicked, which has about as great of an effect on me as you'd imagine. ' _Percy, don't ignore this. This is extremely urgent. I had a dream-vision of you fighting back-to-back with a purple eyed, black haired girl of thirteen or something. I think I have a prophecy for her and you, but the two of you'll have to come here and formally demand it. Find her, and answer me soon. I'll be at my father's penthouse this month._ '

Fuck you, Rachel. Fuck you into oblivion. Fuck the gods and fuck their prophecies. What did you say?! This is a teen-plus fanfic? Fuck you, reader and you too, author. I'll say whatever I want! Increase the motherfucking rating if you care so much! And I'm fourteen, not thirteen!

Dad puts an arm across my shoulders and hugs me to his side, calming me down and stopping my cursing and fourth-wall break. "We'll go to her. Pack your things."

" _Pack_ my things? Dad?" I ask incredulously, turning to search for answers in his face.

"We don't know when the bad things will start. Get a backpack. Fill it with clothes, toiletries, your period pack, everything. Pick a few knives from the kitchen for mortal enemies."

"And for the others?" I have, within some margin of error, zero days of training.

Shock has seemingly made him single-minded. "I'll get them. Choose a sword, put in its sheath and at your waist. I'll do mine likewise. Imperial Gold daggers to pass as Romans, silver daggers against wolves. And that compound bow you've wanted to try since you were three, we'll take it too. It won't fit on our backs, so I'll levitate it above us in a water cover and Mist it away. Now run! Act like we're on a time limit!"

He literally shoves me off the couch and I comply, trusting his years of demigod-ing over my three hours of awkward-ing with the swords.

* * *

If monsters try to attack us on the way to Rachel Elizabeth Dare's house, I don't know of them. Dad didn't look particularly distracted, so either the monsters are weak and dissipated easily, or there are none.

That's another realisation on my part: the idiot who's writing this had lulled me and sympathetic readers into a false sense of security by writing that the monsters weren't targeting me but just _happened_ to find me, only to then subvert expectations and reveal that _Surprise! Your life is going to hell right on schedule._

Should I be cracking hell/Hades/Erebus/Tartarus jokes? I'll have to ask uncle Nico if he appears in a later chapter.

Anyway, as I was saying, the ride to Rachel was rather remark-less. The only feature of interest is when Dad remembers Rachel's richness and reminds me of it. "Don't squawk and stare," he warns, "We're here for a prophecy."

I'm only too pleased with the alliteration in my internal monologue, but I manage to concentrate on his words. I tell him there's no one with more incentive to focus on the news of my life or death than me, and he answers that I underestimate him. "I'll want someone to pay to keep the life-support machines running for my toothless, hairless body, after all."

"Well, if you're lucky," I say, "I'll be heartless and pull the plug on you somewhere in your second month."

He winks at me. "Don't lie to me, Kori. We both know it'll be three weeks max."

See, my dad is the dad to joke with. He's fluent in more meme templates than most internet-creatures will ever see, he likes mortality jokes, ugly puns, period jokes, he makes and recognises random fandom references—he's awesome, is all. He says sass is his default state, and I can't disagree that it's mine too. He was a recluse and an idiot during the time frame between Annabeth Chase's death and my birth, he's told me many times, but I can't extrapolate that Perseus from what I can see in front of me.

('random fandom'? Dude, I'm on fire with these poetic devices today!)

As it turns out, it's very lucky Dad warned me about not freaking out over the Dare wealth. As we go up in an elevator that looks and feels like we're floating, I can barely focus on the mission. I chant it to myself to keep steady. "RED's prophecy; what's-going-on-with-me; RED's prophecy; what's-going-on-with-me..." I mutter it over and over again. I fall into a rhythm, and can finally concentrate enough to look at Dad to see what he's doing.

He's almost OCD-ly touching his weapons. But I know he's not OCD—he's really, really messy. He's nervous, and it's making him hyperactive. He's stressed, uncomfortable, even though this situation should be familiar to him, having had so many prophecies and quests heard and completed during his years at Camp Half-Blood. He's scared, nervous, stressed, anxious, uncomfortable... because of me. I'm the one thing that had changed since then, except for his age and his weapon.

That realisation makes his words about me underestimating him _burn_ into my head. He cares for me. Over the course of this one day so many times he's proven himself and I still instinctively question his love. In my school life and non-crazy life too I knew he would do anything for me, but somehow it wasn't _real_ , tangible, measurable, right up until this moment. My dad _cares_ for me, _loves_ me.

It's ridiculous how much that sentence understates the feeling of gratitude that floods me on realising it.

He catches me looking at him. His eyebrows scrunch up as he moves closer and bows to meet my height. "Why are you crying? I'm here, you aren't going to get hurt."

As if conjured at his command, I feel more tears releasing. It must hurt him, right? Lying to me like that? He _knows_ there's nothing but suffering ahead, yet he says he can save me. But if he tries to prevent the hurt from coming to me, the Fates will kill him to get him out of their way. I can't see him die for me...

But I can't tell him that. I wave him away, saying, "I somehow thought of a stupid tragedy story. You know that new one you read to me? The ending just _kills_ me sometimes." Just like a stereotypical teenage girl, crying at tragic lovers and playing right into the hands of the system.

But my father is not your usual father and he wipes the tears off and gives me his handkerchief (that I forced him to start wearing) maintaining as much gravity as if I was crying at a funeral. "Yeah, it really gets to you sometimes. Another thought from a slightly, barely different angle and it shocks you again how much May sacrificed for Troian."

I smile at his care, and he probably interprets it as a smile at his understanding. I slowly calm myself back to business mode, spurred on by the approaching penthouse floor. Also, I almost forgot to clarify to you—yes I have my father read to me. It's a net profit, since my dyslexia is worse than his.

The doors open and a redheaded lady is standing just outside as if waiting for us but she can't be Rachel even though she looks around my father's age because she's _beautiful_.

She hugs Dad, murmuring about how much he's changed and how much she misses him. I stare at her: I can't, _can't_ trace this pretty woman back to the klutzy, artsy, weirdo teen that Dad had described to me in his stories. There are no splotches of paint, no graffiti-ed denims, no freckles, no bracelets.

She steps back from her embrace and looks at me, inspects me. "This is exactly the girl I dreamt about! How did you find her?"

"She's my daughter, Kori," Dad answers simply.

"And I'm fourteen," I add, "not 'thirteen or something'."

If Rachel is surprised that Perseus Jackson has a teenaged daughter, or that the daughter in question can mouth off, her face doesn't show it. Her only response is a muttered "That explains it," and she tells us to follow her into the house.

I try to ask her, "What does that mean? What does it explain?" but she's quiet till we are seated in her living room. Dad asks whether we are safe from mortal interruption, and Rachel says that nobody is supposed to be living here right now, and so there are not even servants around.

She asks me, "Have you had any significant dreams recently? Any funny creature, humanoid, scenery?"

"Nope. My schedule is so tiring I just pass out. No dreams at all, so no dreams that are significant."

Nodding, she turns to Dad. "Percy, why did you did come _today_? The message is weeks old. I was about to send a new one with an updated location."

I'm about to blurt out "It's Perseus," but Dad places a hand on my shoulder to stop me. I do stop. Maybe she's close enough, dear enough. "A _dracaena_ chased her home from school today, and I killed it and decided to start training her. Only when I taught her to use her water magic, she used it once and the second time she summoned a ghost.

"We were obviously very confused and angry, and the logical next step was to get some Camp intel. I remembered you'd left a message back then and decided that a peek into the future couldn't hurt."

"What did you do to the spirit?"

Dad laughs. "She rushed it and obliterated it."

Rachel's face shows apprehension now. She stalls for time. "Any more monsters? Did you see any classic ones?"

I tell her this is starting to feel like an interrogation instead of an Oracle's guidance. "Tell me what happened in your dream of me and Dad."

Rachel gulps, meaning she's really nervous. She gives Dad a look that I can't interpret but he does and he tells me to hand over my sword. I give it to him, deducing that she thinks I'm gonna lash out at her for what she says. Fair enough: I _am_ volatile. What surprises me is that he takes his own sword, along with mine, and throws it behind him.

She thinks he'll lash out too.

"Kori, the dream... it implied that you... have all the Big Three's powers."

My first thought is that she shouldn't have worried I was gonna go all predator on her. You know that scene in _H2G2_ where Arthur Dent gets so many shocks in one day that he's just passive to any more? That is me now. The significance of her sentence doesn't hit me, and won't probably hit me for another chapter or two.

But I have one clear thought lined up right after that one. It is that this author wasn't just pleased by giving me Hades and Poseidon powers, no. He _had_ to add Zeus'. This should technically make me probably the most overpowered fanfiction heroine that is also a daughter of Percy Jackson, but he will clearly make me stumble and fail like Erebus at using my demigod magic and thus reduce the OPness.

Which wouldn't faze me generally, but it's so humiliating to be so powerful and still make rookie mistakes. Oh, well: I can't really do much about it from inside these words, can I?

I'm so engrossed in thinking about my thoughts and crazily talking about this story that I almost miss Dad's reaction to Rachel's words, and Rachel's reaction to Dad's reaction.

About Dad's reaction—well, let me just tell you that (1) it isn't violent, (2) it isn't vocal, and (3) it makes Rachel shrink back and grasp her necklace that has a sun-and-bow symbol that's clearly a 'Help me, Apollo!' beacon.

It makes me scared too, I must admit. Now, you know I _know_ he's not gonna be harm me, even accidentally, so I'm not afraid for myself. I'm scared for him: I'm scared he'll take up his sword and launch himself at Olympus and fight till he dies, just to even slightly hurt the Fates.

He's currently glaring at the floor with all that intensity, and now _I_ put a hand on _his_ shoulder to bring him back. He shakes his head, asks for a glass of water.

Rachel scurries to what I hope is the kitchen and not a panic room, and Dad closes his eyes. I stand up and go to retrieve our weapons from where he'd thrown them.

When I come back Rachel's handing him a glass and holding one for me too. I take mine from her hand and thank her. Dad's managed to normalise somehow. "Where're the Zeus powers from?" His voice is rough; he almost croaks.

"Not sure, but... maybe Sally was a legacy. And it must've been a long ancestor who was a demigod, because even the gods forgot about it and the powers clearly haven't manifested since way back. My other theory is Persephone is... you know... the daughter of Demeter and Zeus. So she may bring with her some powers. Maybe it even strengthened the legacy part enough to manifest!"

"They were snakes when it happened, and so Persephone is a snake, and just like a snake who can do no good, she's cursed my daughter with this life."

I get the urge to remind him if it weren't for her I wouldn't be _alive_ and he would be a living ghost, but then I understand he's saying that scenario would be better. And that too bounces off of me because I'm still too shocked to care, as I said already.

I take initiative with the questions because Dad needs cool down time. "Did you see whether the powers are comparable in strength or like Zeus' is weakest because it's ancestral or Hades' are weak because they're indirect or something like that?"

"No, they're not ranked, Kori. You're as strong with each. The reason for that I do not know, but I think it wasn't the gods that did this."

Meaning: the Fates did this. I straighten up and look her in the eye. "Oracle, I request, on behalf of my father and me, a prophecy if you have one for us." I get goosebumps from anticipation.

Rachel's eyes do not turn green. She doesn't spout rhyming lines of destruction while being surrounded by green fumes.

I blink at her baffled, and I expect Dad does too, and Rachel just sighs and says, "I got nothing. Ever since Apollo restored the other Oracles, the prophecies have all become distributed between all of us. Perhaps one of the others can help you."

Oh yes, the _Trials of Apollo_. The series that killed Jason Grace, almost-killed Frank Zhang, destroyed any chance of Theyna (my OTP), reduced Piper to an almost-mortal, and broke so many hearts. I can hear some in the back say that I didn't give you a spoiler warning. Well, that is why you should read ANs; there _is_ a warning.

I try to recall what other Oracles are there, but Rachel beats me to it. "The only ones that are functional right now are the Sibylline Books tattooed on Tyson and inside Ella's head, and the Grove of Dodona. The others are cursed or dead or have their gifts revoked."

Dad curses. I don't understand why, so I ask Rachel. She answers, "The Grove is at Camp Half-Blood, and Ella and Tyson have opened up a shop at Camp Jupiter called _Cyclops Books and Prophecies and Orange Cat_." She pauses for effect. "Your father will have to visit at least one camp to get your prophecy."

She doesn't say the 'and face his nightmares' bit, maybe because she doesn't know he has them. "Shouldn't _all_ of you get my prophecy? I mean, as far as I can see, this is a big, important, fate-of-the-world one. Clearly—and believe me I hate this—I'm the most im—"

I'm cut off by a hand covering my mouth. I trace it back to Dad and glare at him in indignation. Then I see the chastising look in his eyes. What did I do wrong?

"No superlatives of importance, power, strength, luck. No superlatives at all if they praise you. Never say it even if it's obvious. I said once to Magnus and Alex that Annabeth was the greatest demigod of our generation and you know very well what happened to her. The Roman legion praised Jason as their best warrior on many occasions and he died stupidly. Piper was called the most resourceful, most beautiful daughter of Aphrodite, me the most powerful son of Poseidon. We both suffered, just not as brightly. The Fates are always seeing and listening, looking for a laugh at our expense."

I nod in understanding and he lifts his hand away. He turns to Rachel and says, "Well, if you can't give us a prophecy, can you at least tell us what was it like in your dream? Specifically, did it seem like an Olympian civil war or just gods versus monsters? I need to know whom we can trust, and if we can trespass in Poseidon's and Zeus' if we want to."

"It wasn't that clear, but you were fighting monsters, not demigods. I mean, you aren't against Olympus itself, and how many gods will go so far as to hire monster to fight demigods?"

"Every single one of them. Every single Olympian is capable of allying with monsters just to see their enemy dead. But you're right, if it was us against Olympus or the majority of Olympus, the gods would send their halfbloods against us. Did you see us using our powers?"

I answer for Rachel. "Obviously, Dad. How else would she have known I could use wind, water and hell?"

Dad laughs self-deprecatingly, just as the French window behind Rachel explodes.

Fucking cliffhangers, amiright?

* * *


	3. Camp Let's-Terrify-Kori-and-Not-Help

* * *

Done reading the long chapter title? Good, 'cause I'm in a little danger right now and this story can't move forward if you don't pay attention and _read_.

So, as I was saying in the last chapter, the French window behind Rachel Elizabeth Dare explodes. Thankfully, the word 'explodes' as I use it here refers to just the glass breaking under stress and _not_ an actual explosion. Thus-hence-therefore-so, we _are_ alive as the shards start raining around us.

Dad jumps to his feet and waves his hand, using his power to (1) draw his sword to him, and (2) create a rough dome around us to deflect the falling pieces of glass. I too get to my feet, but don't do the magic bit. He calls my sword to him too, and holds it out to me. I take it and grip it like he taught me. Rachel has wisely turned a couch over and taken cover behind it.

The glass is, unbelievably, _still_ coming, bouncing against the water hemisphere. That isn't a matter of concern in and of itself, but it's causing the liquid to ripple and distort our view of the enemy. It takes a few seconds to all fall down and then we see our enemies. It's the Stymphalian Birds.

Well, that should be easy. Anybody got a boom box with Dean Martin on? Or a boy named Lester?

"Rachel! What music system do you have in here?" Dad shouts, apparently having had the same idea as me.

"I don't know! But it's big and loud and probably expensive as Hades!" Rachel yells back. Well, I can understand that not all music lovers have to know what system they're playing on. It's loud, it's clear—good enough.

The birds have started trying to get through the flimsy shield Dad's erected, and he waves his hand again to strengthen it. "How do you play it? Are there bad songs on it?"

A bird has got its beak in, and it's trying to squeeze its full body in, violently flapping its bronze wings. As the two adults discuss how to play horrible music, I try to use my power the way Dad described it to me.

Why do I play with fire by using my brand-new and highly untamed-yet powers instead of just telling Dad there's a breacher? Because I'm a headstrong and arrogant teen, that's why. And also because the attacker is small, and progress happens in times of crisis, and I wanna test what I can do.

A cold sensation erupts at my fingertips, spreading upwards to mid-upperarm. A ten-count of 'nothing happens' and then a spirit emerges from the floor. Great, I wanted Poseidon powers and got Hades. I turn to Dad to ask him what should I do with it, but before I can get a syllable out, the ghost in question starts screaming what sounds like Adele trying to sing Eminem.

I'll never recover from this trauma, I tell you. Don't even try to imagine it.

I scramble to the couch we were sitting on and try to bury my head in it like the cartoon ostrich. I realise I'm screaming too, half-hoping to counter that God-awful noise by a wordless battle cry of my own. "AAAAAAAAAHHHH—!"

And then there's water around my head, muffling the sounds I'm hearing and the sounds I'm making. I look to Dad and, as expected, he and Rachel have blobs of water on their heads, too. Presumably Rachel's has a air inlet somewhere.

Now that the horrible music is not tormenting me anymore, I inspect my surroundings. I turn to the Stymphalian Birds, and I can't help but sympathise with them. They're thrashing about, squawking and pecking at the immaterial Bad Singer spirit, who is full of joy at the terror he's causing. Yes, I can tell that the spirit is a he and that he's happy. I'm a natural ghost-mind-reader, thank you very much.

Anyway, the birds keep flying around, futilely trying to eat the ghost's flesh. Their pain makes them fly badly and Rachel's house is gonna need some serious repairs. Fortunately, they realise midway through the first rap that they can't kill the dead, and escape through the window they broke, but not before slamming into and clawing at more things.

Once the birds are all gone, I decide to dispose the summoned spirit nicely for once. " _Please_ fuck off," I say to him. He obliges, bowing in front of his phantom audience and catching a phantom rose before sinking into the floor. My hands come back to normal temperature a few seconds later.

" _Please_ pretend to be innocent and non-swearing," my father says, dispelling the dome and helping Rachel up, "Not everybody needs to know that I taught you sailor-speak in all its eloquence. You okay, Rach?"

"Her home isn't," I say, surveying the damage.

"I'm fine. And believe me, I've done worse to this house on my own," Rachel says, "You have to get to the camps and get her prophecy. It's the only way you'll know what to do and what to not."

"Why were you asking if she saw us using our powers?" I ask Dad, curious enough to filter out what Rachel said for the moment.

"A final check that we aren't standing against any of the gods," he explains, "If Rachel had seen, for example, that we can't use water powers in future fights, that would have meant that Poseidon had revoked our magic, which could only happen if we were going directly against him. Same for Hades and Zeus. Because it's clear that the Big Three are on our side, we don't have to be _that_ wary of water, air, _or_ land transport."

I have some really cool ideas on how to use our powers to get to the camps, but Dad starts speaking again before I can interrupt. And unlike the cursing bit, this time it's a proper scolding. "Speaking of powers, Kori, why would you do that? You can't control your powers, and they're even more volatile than an ordinary demigod's! That was a lucky shot; What if you'd summoned winds and pushed all out of the window?"

An abrupt and dark ending for a fanfiction, that's what would have happened. But I'm more interested in telling him about the coldness bit. "I'm sorry about using them and not alerting you, I won't do it again. But Dad, something weird happened this time when I used my powers. You told me I'd feel a knot in my gut when I conjured water, right? Well, this time I felt a cold sensation in my fingertips spreading upwards, like I was reaching into a deep freezer! That weird, right? I don't remember it happening that time in the backyard, but maybe I just wasn't paying attention."

He thinks about it. "I don't remember feeling something like that, and I don't know what the others felt when they used their powers. It could be normal for demigods using Hades powers or just you in particular. Nonetheless, this is good news: Even if it turns out you have _zero_ control over which power will be called up next, you can at least identify it and possibly take cover before it starts to wreck havoc."

"There's another thing," I say, "Why did it take so long? I mean, I was feeling cold for so long before it appeared!"

Dad just shrugs. "Maybe it took time to get up from ground level to penthouse level? Or maybe your brain is just getting used to the so many powers, like someone choosing what word to say next using a dictionary? I dunno; I'm just as stumped as you are when it comes to your powers."

The Oracle cuts him off. " _That's_ why you need to get to Camp. God, you ADHD idiots! Show them something shiny and they'll forget the crucial stuff!"

Dad and I rub the back of our necks in similar embarrassment. "Sorry, Red," he says, "We'll leave right now. Unless there's more...?"

She sighs. "I got nothing. But, as I said, there's better advise elsewhere. You go straight to the Grove of Dodona, okay? No detours and no turning back 'cause you don't want to face the campers."

"This is my daughter's life, Rachel." Dad smiles sardonically. "No price is too high for me now."

* * *

"I've discovered something," I blurt out, looking at the trees whizzing by.

"And what's that, Einstein?"

I clear my throat. "Any straight or gay person can never know for sure that they're not bi."

"Care to elaborate?" Dad prompts, overtaking a van.

"Look, let's take you as the straight example. You know you like girls—or women or ladies, whatever. Females, you know you like females. But you don't know for sure that you _don't_ like males. I mean, it may just be that you haven't found your type yet. Or, in my personal slang, you haven't found your Convertor yet. The gay version is the same: What if I just haven't yet found a guy that I'll like?"

"That's— I think Wise Girl told me something like that once. She called it the study of knowledge. What we can know and what we can pretend we know and what can just believe. Congrats, you've rediscovered something cool and its application: You can put your friends into existential crises now."

That makes me think of Vicky and Suz... and Cassie. "About that, will I have to just leave my school friends? Will I have to make new ones at the camps?"

He hums noncommittally. "Not right now, I think. This quest in search of a prophecy will probably just be me and you. The actual quest (and maybe quests) due to the prophecy, those we'll need at least one more demigod or legacy for. Might be they'll be your age. After _that_ , you'll have to divide your time between Camp Half-Blood and home. Depending on how changed you are by then and how much your school friends remember you in your absence, you'll probably have demigods _and_ mortals as friends."

"Dad, if this prophecy can potentially thrust me right into multiple dangerous quests, when will I get the time to practice my demigod powers?" I ask.

In response, he curses violently. "How can I forget so important a thing?! Stupid ADHD!" He turns to me. "You'll practice right now. I decided we'd practice on the way to Camp at Rachel's but forgot once we left the city. That's why we rented this pickup: You can practice on the bed. I'll Mist us from the other drivers and make a water room to mark your playpen. Give me a sec."

"But what if I can't focus properly and the hurricane or lightning or zombie or whatever _doesn't_ appear inside the playpen? We could get hit."

"Hmm. I'll have to protect us with water too, then. I'll flood the cabin area. Worst-case scenario after doing that, you blow up the truck. We'll be safe and lose our deposit. Good enough for me." He holds out a hand toward me. "Pass me the nectar, will you?"

I have to dig around in my backpack for the flask for about a minute. When I hand it to him, he takes a few sips and caps it. Without taking his eyes off the road, he waves his left hand as if conducting an orchestra, and with a _POP_ , the two of us are underwater.

"Float off your seat and face the bed," he instructs.

I do as asked, and the cage is already here. Approximately three inches thick and wide enough to fit snuggly in the truck, just touching the floor. "How did you know the exact size? You did this before, too— Shielding me and making a door without seeing me or it. How'd you do it?"

"Water vapor," Dad answers simply, "I can feel the humidity in the air, which has the same effect as feeling what's air and what's other things. In other words, the vapor particles bounce off the walls, and so I know where the walls are." He glances at me. "You'll be doing the same in no time."

I nod at him even though his eyes are on the road. "What do I do now?"

He summons some more water, but this water is different somehow. It's as if he relinquished his hold on it: It falls on the floor of the water-room-cage but doesn't coalesce with it, and moves like nonmagical water would, swaying when the truck turns. I think he summoned it so I could use it as normal water.

"First lesson: Control. Close your eyes," he tells me, "Pull up an image of the bed as you would see if your eyes were open. You can see the water I've let go of, yes? Imagine it coming together in a ball shape and levitating to the center of the playpen."

"I don't know where the center of the playpen _is_!"

"You don't have to. Eyeball it... or don't. You just need to think how it would look like to you if the water _was_ a ball and _was_ levitating at the center."

It takes me a few seconds to choose a spot that looks the middle. I tell him I'm done when I'm satisfied with it.

"Good, now open your eyes. You won't see what you were imagining. This should feel wrong. _Order_ the water to obey your plans for it. _Compel_ it!" He pauses, and then says, "And if you're feeling _anything_ other than a tug in your gut, tell me."

I try hard, but nothing happens. The water careens to the left and then to the right. I keep trying. I'll have to master all this shit if I wanna live.

When I don't respond in a "I did it!", Dad adds, "If it doesn't happen in one go, close your eyes and go through it again. You're desperate, angry at the stupid water for being so unresponsive."

And at first I'm not, but after three repeats of careful imagining and concentrating, I _am_ pissed off by the water. He's not exactly goading me, but I am getting frustrated with it. Fucking _obey_ already!

And then it does.

I feel the tug in my gut, knotting like muscles straining. Slowly and steadily, my water starts rising and coming together as a ball. My first instinct is to shake Dad and show him that _I did it, I_ did _it!_ But that overjoy loosens my hold on the water and it falls a few inches and begins to lose its shape. I pull myself together just before it can go splat, and it continues rising and ball-ifying.

"Well done," Dad says before I can tell him, probably sensing it using the vapor and stuff.

"Why's it so hard? The bad singer just _arrived_ late—the power was instantaneous. This time the power didn't manifest at all for so long!"

He thinks about it for a while before replying. "One reason can be that you're thinking too hard. It's mostly instinct for me, and I imagine it'd be same for most demigods. Back in Rachel's penthouse, you thought you wanted a jet of water to push the bird out, yeah? But your instincts were to get rid of the enemy, to drive off _all_ the birds, and you knew that could only be done by loud and horrible music. That's why the ghost appeared."

"How can I _not_ think about it before using my powers? That's the method you told me just now!"

"It's not— Ah, how do I say this? See, when I was facing a monster, I didn't think where the water would come from, or whether the monster would fall on its butt or just be pushed back or have its hand chopped off. I just thought, 'I wanna hit this smelly monster,' and the water obliged."

Yeah... I remember reading that. The bathroom scene was mostly instinctive, right? Clarisse was about to shove his head into the toilet and he didn't want that and the water drenched her and her gang and Annabeth.

"Try giving it a personality," he continues, "Maybe it's a sentient creature of Poseidon's kingdom and wants to keep you safe. I remember all the fishes being 'milord', 'your Grace' and things like that. So, whenever you want help or protection you can imagine yelling your demand and the water being 'Oh shit! The princess is in danger!' or 'The princess wants my help!'."

Huh. That can work with the other powers too. Maybe not Zeus' 'cause I'm not really related that well, but I'm the daughter of the Queen of the Underworld, a princess. If it's really that simple, I'm gonna enjoy this. "Did you give it a personality?"

He nods. "For me the water was more like the Primordial gods Pontus and Hydros themselves tagging along with me and helping me just because they didn't like the other side. Like, they wanted to tell Gaea how much they hated her china sets, or they wanted to punish that particular monster for peeing in one of their daughter nymphs, or Kronos for not sending them greeting cards. Stuff like that."

"Isn't that a little too narcissistic for you? The literal personifications of water aiding you personally?" I've always seen my dad be selfless and down-to-Earth, and I'm pretty sure I remember reading he was too selfless for his own good even back during canon events.

He's almost reluctant to answer. He's never hid even his worst from me, so I'm assuming he thinks hearing this will hurt _me_ more than saying it will hurt _him_. "It helps to think you're just a piece for higher ups to push around. Most demigods say something like that to themselves. Some choose the Fates to be their pretend-controllers, others choose Lady Chaos.

"It's better to delude yourself that your suffering is meaningless. Your friends die left and right whether you get stabbed by that monster or not. Your family is in danger whether you get mauled by that evil relative or not. But, if it's all just part of a greater being's petty revenge or grand scheme... well, you can enjoy it or go nihilist, respectively."

See Reader, _this_ is I'm so pessimistic about being a demigod all the time. The canon characters, they had tales of grandeur and valor to go by and divine intentions to assume. Me, I know all _their_ stories—Jason, Leo and Annabeth dead, Piper and Dad broken, Hazel dead and returned, and, alkng with Frank, Nico and Thalia, orphaned. I have heard more tragedies than comedies. It ain't my fault.

There's also the fact that even _if_ Uncle Rick's characters were logically supposed to feel hopeless all the time, he couldn't _write_ them feeling hopeless all the time because the books were, more or less, an early readers thing. Whereas this is meant for more of a YA audience. You can see that in the later books ( _HoH_ and after), Riordan too has included hopelessness.

"Kori!" Dad's voice snaps me out of my reverie. "Don't space out now. You've got a _lot_ to learn. Choose a story for the water and do that exercise once more, quick!"

I do; I wanna live.

* * *

When I first see the Athena Parthenos, my first thought is that it's smaller than I'd expected. Same for Half-Blood Hill. This is the site of the war against Gaea (and Octavian's brainwashed Romans), and that is the statue Dad and Annabeth fell to Tartarus because of, _and_ the statue that stopped the second demigod civil war. It feels tiny and insignificant as I look at it. The Hill is also not as green as I'd expected. It's yellowing and rough and _wild_.

Dad's done parking now and he walks to beside me. "Nostalgic yet?" I ask him teasingly.

"Yep! I can almost smell the minotaur armpit fragrance."

I roll my eyes involuntarily. "Say, wasn't it raining back then? Imagine if his loincloth had slipped because of the water."

He laughs. "I'm not sure I want to imagine that. C'mon."

"Well, any last minute warning/advice?"

He has to think for a moment. "Don't be surprised," he says after he's done, and stalks up the hill with long strides.

"Hey!" I run after him when I finally interpret what he's said. "That's like the vaguest advice in the history of vague _and_ advice!"

"It's not," he throws over his shoulder, "Pick up any prophecy and you'll know. Besides, 'Don't be surprised,' is important to keep in mind. The kids, the creatures, the in-jokes, the magic, the things. There's a lot that can shock you; Don't let it."

I've reached his side by now. The guardian tree is straight ahead, on the crest. As we walk, a few of its leaves fall off and flutter to the ground. I'm reminded, quite inexplicably, of the Golden Fleece healing it and aunt Thalia herself. "Dad, can we take uncle Nico with us on our quest if the prophecy's not here?" I want him and aunt Thalia to teach me without having to waste time at Camp. I'd try for her too, but being a Hunter, she's probably got stricter schedule and duties.

"We can ask him. _If_ he's not already on a quest, and _if_ his father and Will and Chiron allow it. Will won't have any problems, I think. And Chiron's cool. Hades' the deciding factor."

"Will will will Nico go, you mean to say."

"That's a good one!" He holds his hand up for a high five, too high up as always, and I jump up to reach it.

"Why would Hades not— _Oh!_ I'm his wife's daughter..."

"Bingo. He'd kill you if he could, if you hadn't been a Prophecy Kid."

We step up to the tree and _oh my God I did not expect this_.

Remember the dragon that protected the Fleece? Peleus the adorable little monster? Turns out he's _grown_. On the other side of the hill, just inside the camp's boundary is a massive purple dragon sleeping all curled up and purring like the revving of a muscle car on the scale of an aircraft carrier. Don't be surprised, I repeat to myself.

I turn to my father to see his reaction, and see that he's approaching it. Causally. He moves to its snout-thingie and pets it. Peleus revs particularly loudly and wakes up. His eyes are yellow and reptilian. "Hello," Dad greets.

The dragon acknowledges him with a blink and stares at me.

"That's Kori," he continues, "my daughter." To me he says: "C'mon here."

I do, because apparently this is some sort of initiation. Peleus' scales are as big as my hands, and his eyes are beady and unmoving. I stand a foot away from Dad but the a _lot_ further away from Peleus' face. He moves closer, and I force myself to hold my ground. He sniffs me. Somehow his neck is long enough that he can go all around me.

He's done sniffing and is staring at me again. I've read enough books and seen enough movies to know what happens next—either a lick or a decapitation. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for both.

He licks me all right. But his tongue. Isn't. Wet.

Seriously, it's this half-dry, cookie-dough texture that I can't really explain beyond those words. It feels _weird_ , like batter is being rubbed across half my face. I don't exactly _like_ it, but I assume it's better than a sloppy lick like in the books/movies. Maybe breathing fire doesn't go well with wet tongues.

I wait for a minute after the tongue leaves me before peeking. Dad is smirking. Seeing me looking, he explains, "He's seen Mrs O'Leary lick campers so many times that he's picked up on it. We begged the nature-spirits to translate that 'It's not necessary, dude,' but they enjoy the idea of new demigods being scared and shocked."

"Wh-Why didn't he lick _you_?"

He shrugs. "You glare at him a few times when he approaches you, and he gets the message." He pats Peleus' snout again. "But enough on the dragon, let's go to Camp."

That's when I look at the valley for the first time. It's breathtaking. The Camp sprawls lazily across half the valley. The Big House, the climbing lava wall, the training arena, the strawberry fields, the cabins, the dining pavilion, the campfire amphitheatre, the canoe lake... there's so _much_.

Just looking at it reboots my system with the message: 'Yer a demigod, Kori.'

Before I can be properly overwhelmed, though, Dad places a hand on my shoulder and nods at the Big House. "Don't be surprised, remember?"

"Right." I tear my eyes away from the beauty and we start down the hill. Dad points out features as we go, narrating comic anecdotes to accompany them. Maybe he knows I need cheering up, maybe he's just all happy thoughts himself. The Oracle's Cave with its Truth-or-Dare weekends. The campfire amphitheatre where once Chiron gave a thirty-minute the-birds-and-the-bees talk and the mood-colored campfire turned _invisible_ because of the collective mortification. The volleyball court where the Hecate cabin always cheats and uses teleportation on the ball to win. The strawberry fields where there's still a clump of lemons plants courtesy of Grover's terrible panpipes. We encounter only a few demigods, and they don't stop us or question us. Apparently, it's commonplace for an adult demigod to be giving a younger one the tour.

When we reach the baby blue and white Big House, Dad doesn't narrate a happy memory. Instead, he tells me to brace myself. I tell him I have braced myself. Together, we walk in.

First observation: Chiron isn't here. Second observation: The leopard head on the wall is chewing... something. It looks at us, paused in the doorway, finishes its eating, flicks its ears, points with its eyes (widened purposefully) toward a bowl of sausages below it, imploringly like it's a life-or-death situation.

Dad walks to it and tosses him one, and the leopard snaps it up and continues its chewing. "You know, Seymour," my dad says in an admonishing tone, "you're supposed to scare off intruders, not ask them for treats."

The leopard head—Seymour, apparently—whines. It _whines_.

"Hey, don't be sad," he says, "Call Mr D and Chiron here and I'll give you another sausage. How's that deal?"

Seymour brightens and proceeds to do just that... somehow. It doesn't _do_ anything, at least not visibly, but Dad throws it another sausage and goes to sit on the couch. I follow him, confused and chanting to myself his advice.

Under a minute—I know, because I counted—Chiron appears, in wheelchair form. He doesn't seem surprised to see Percy Jackson his reclusive student, nor me a teenager beside him. He shakes Dad's hand and nods to me and rolls over to across the coffee table. "Ms Dare told us to expect you," says Chiron, "Mr D will be arriving in a few moments: He likes everyone seated and quiet for his entrance. How are you, my boy?"

"In fine, Chiron. How are the kids?"

He smiles. "I'd say more of a nuisance than your generation, but we both know I don't like to lie."

Dad grins. "You probably tell every generation that same thing. I bet you tell these kids 'My previous students didn't sulk around so much,' while feeding _us_ lies about good _they_ are."

Chiron shrugs but doesn't withhold a smirk. "It is what teachers must do. Immortal mentors are no different. But before we descend to trivial talks, Percy, I'm waiting to be introduced."

Before Dad can reply, a flash of light blinds is all and when I can see again Dionysius is seated on the other couch. "I presume," he drawls, "that nothing of import has been discussed with me present."

"You would be correct in assuming that," Chiron answers.

Dad introduces us. "Mr D, Chiron, this is my daughter, Kori. Kori, you know them."

Mr D hmms, looking at me. "The Oracle told us about you and your lineage. Scandalous indeed, and very juicy."

We all collectively ignore that last sentence and Chiron says, "My boy, why are you here?"

I speak up. "A prophecy. Rachel Dare didn't have one for me, so we're here to get one from the Grove of Dodona."

Chiron calmly asks me, "And why do you think you need a prophecy?"

That is a good question. Most demigods and legacies get attacked by monsters and then come to Camp just like me, and _don't_ get prophecies or quests. Nothing very different has happened to me yet. Yes I'm a strange case with the 'three powers' thing, but nothing _different_ has occurred to me yet, has it? No godly war threatened if I didn't do something, no friend gone missing, no Oracle come to spout a prophecy about me...

"Just being cautious," I reply uncertainly, "If there _is_ a threat, won't it be best if we know already?"

"We'll check for prophecies with the Grove and Tyson and Ella first," Dad continues, "If there's none, Kori will join Camp for training. I think a six-month crash-course will be enough."

"That would be prudent," Chiron says.

Mr D exhales loudly and says, "This is turning out to be quite boring. You'll excuse me," and teleports away, barely fixing me time to close my eyes against the binding flash.

Chiron sighs. "That would be how a god reacts to matters of human concern. You are correct in assuming there's a prophecy, Kori; I was just testing you. Like your father, you too are the subject of a prophecy glimpsed years ago, and Ms Dare's dreams confirm that it spells your fate."

"Glimpsed?" Dad asks.

He nods in response. "If the entire prophecy was known to the gods, there would have been measures to prevent it, like the Big Three pact in the Second World War. We only know a small portion of it, and understand even less." The immortal centaur turns to me. "A demigod's life is hard, I'm sure your father has informed you of that. But despair can't let you decide the fate of the world. Knowing the prophecy may help you, but not as much as you think."

Well, shit. He's _never_ acted this mysterious in any of the books. Is something wrong here? Does the author wants to pull a George Lucas on me? "Chiron, why are you acting like Obi-Wan Kenobi? Is there a secret you're hiding? Do I have, like, a secret twin? Please, please, _please_ tell me if that's it: I don't wanna make out with my sibling."

To his credit, Chiron doesn't call me crazy. "There's no secret twin, Kori. And no other secret of any kind. At least, not one I know. The prophecy was only glimpsed at by Lord Apollo himself, in the form of—and these are his words—'a blurry, fast paced compilation of two hundred and thirty seven possible ways a demigod with all the Big Three's powers can kill everyone.' On interrogation he belatedly added, 'Also five ways the demigod _doesn't_ kill everyone.'"

That's better odds than against Thanos, at least. I say as much, and Dad sighs longsufferingly while Chiron just kind of stares, confused. "I'm comparing my life to movies," I clarify.

"Well," Chiron says awkwardly, "that's all we know. Unless you have other matters of urgency, I suggest we leave for the Grove of Dodona now."

And now, author, for the love of God, _please_ insert a fucking time skip here and fast-forward to the Grove, or I swear I'll pass out just so I won't have to describe Camp Half-Blood any further

Oh, you'll do it? Thank God! It'll be good for you too, you know: It'll save you the brain cells required to imagine CHB from the eyes of a newcomer and those required to reread the canon books.

Dad glances at me, asking wordlessly if I have any objection. I nod my head and he looks at Chiron and says, "Let's go get a prophecy."

And... CUT!

* * *

"How the hell do people _enjoy_ this?!" I furiously whisper to Dad as we get off of Chiron's back.

The centaur in question hears me despite my best efforts which, granted, are not very good in the first place. "In time horseback riding becomes less painful, or so I hear."

"And he's a really nasty ride, comparatively," Dad appends, stage-whispering to me, "Most horses are more careful."

Chiron rolls his eyes. "I'm not meant for riding." He turns to me. "Just walk cautiously for a while, Kori. The pain will fade within minutes."

Thank God! I don't wanna crabwalk to the prophecy of my life. "Is this it?" I ask, gesturing around us. "Are we there?"

Chiron doesn't answer at once and leads us past a few veils of vines and leaves before announcing dramatically, "The Grove of Dodona, the Oracle of the Titaness Rhea."

"Or its entrance, at least," Dad clarifies. And it is. A wall of bamboo stands upright in our way except for a single gap that's supposedly the doorway. Inside there are a bunch of similar trees that I'm too NYC to recognise. But I'm sure they're oaks like as written in canon.

"Before we enter," Chiron says, "The magical wind chimes have calmed the trees for the most part, but do _not_ entertain any oak that talks of 'great' overseas investment."

"We won't," Dad assures.

I square my shoulders. "Let's go in."

The sacred trees are arranged uniformly and densely, forming a sort of hallway ending in a circular clearing where the wind chimes that Chiron mentioned hang.

All the sounds of the forest are muted here. Or rather, the _outside_ sounds are muted. And there are no birds and animals in this Grove, none that are making any noise. The trees don't talk as we walk, and no offers of brokering is forthcoming. Chiron's hoofbeats and our footsteps are the loudest thing in here. It's too freaking quiet.

" _HOWDY!_ "

I stumble into Chiron's flank on my right, hands going up, to shield my face. A millisecond later it clicks that I'm a demigod now, and my hands go to my sword instead.

It's an oak. One of many in this sacred, magic, godly Grove. The oak shouted 'howdy' at us. I lean against Chiron's horse body and put a hand over my heart to call down its sprint. Shit.

I look down and see we've set foot into the clearing. My first step in, actually. Maybe the talking tree was triggered by my step. That doesn't excuse the shouting, but I should've expected something dramatic to happen: This is Zeus the Drama Queen's mother we're talking about here.

"HOW ARE YOU ON THIS FINE DAY?" it continues.

"Hush, you," Chiron scolds. We walk in fully and stand in the center, facing the general direction the Grove is taking from.

"We're fine," Dad says, "We'd be better if you act normal."

The oak's voice shifts from Old Movie Cowboy to Educator YouTuber and the direction when it says, "Oh, yeah. I can do that. Hey Humans, Grove here! How's your day? But first, what _is_ a day? The most prevalent defini—"

"We're here for a prophecy," I say to cut him off.

" _OH!_ Why didn't you say so?" The tree shivers with excitement and enthusiasm and a few leaves flutter to the ground around us. "Prophecy, numerology, zodiac! I'm great with those things. Ten bucks each."

Wait, what?

Chiron facepalms to my right. Dad just sighs and asks Chiron, "Is this real? I mean—This isn't like the investment scam you warned us about, right?"

"It's never acted like this before," Chiron says, though he sounds only half sure.

"Let's try it." I dig out a ten and place it in front of the oak that's apparently speaking. What can a tree do with cash anyway? I take a few steps away and wait.

The speaker-oak begins to shake. And laugh maniacally. "Hey Jeff!" it calls, "JEFF! Look at me, you acorn butt, I'm rich! I told you I was rich! Can you see the tenner at my base or not?!"

Before any of us can do anything but try futilely to absorb that, one of the trees in the 'hallway' leading to the wind chimes clearing calls, "Oh Zeus you, Dan! We both know that's a dirty trick. Now shut up, or I'll tell Miranda you got superbugs and have to be cut down."

I should've found 'Zeus you' being an insult surprising, but I don't. There's bigger problems and surprises now. "Uh... Dan? My prophecy?"

"Yeah, yeah. Hang on, kid." The oak makes a sound like it's clearing its throat. "Here we go. Oh, and remember this is only the second half, so—"

Again: Wait, what? "The hell are you talking about?"

"Don't interrupt me or I won't say anything else," it says in response, "Now, where were we? Yes, the prophecy:

_Olympus' thrice will wield the broken sword_   
_And face deathless martyrs long abhorred_   
_For her sins the halfblood must doubly atone_   
_To defeat the poppet before the quick crone._

"And... that's it. Have fun, folks."

With that, Dan the magic oak tree of Rhea turns inanimate. Silence swallows us again.

"At least it wasn't a limerick...?" Chiron says tentatively.

"Well, we're screwed," is Dad's reply.

Surprisingly, I'm not devastated or overwhelmed or panicked or anything like that. Not even angry. "So the first part is with Ella and Tyson?"

"What the Hades is a _poppet?!_ " my father exclaims, visibly agitated.

"Yes, Kori, that is the most probable case. And Percy, a poppet is an endearing young woman—"

Dad sighs, relieved. "Thank fuck!"

"—or a voodoo doll or something similar. So don't thank anyone yet." He looks at the trees around us. "We should head back; We'll get no more from the Grove."

I pick up my ten dollars and we walk to outside the Oracle. Dad climbs him and I do too, albeit more reluctantly. Once we're settled, Chiron starts off at a speedy gallop or trot or something. Look, I don't know jackshit about horses, okay? He does something analogous to running for humans. The green and brown blur as he 'runs'. Chiron is also using his centaur thingie to shorten distances so we get back faster, I think.

"Why does the prophecy require all three Oracles to feed us bits and pieces?" Dad asks, because apparently we are talking about my destiny on horseback with the horse participating in the convo.

"Perhaps, like the Prophecy of Seven, it is significant enough to warrant more than one Oracle."

Or perhaps the author wanted to bloat his word count by writing multiple long pre-quest chapters, because apparently word counts are like dick sizes to fanfic writers. Wha- _at?_ You know it's true! Don't try to excuse yourself by saying that it's just meant to imply high stakes: It's a Tiny Dick Syndrome and you know it. Now shut up and write.

Asshole.

But Chiron's logic is defective beyond even that and I point it out. "That is like the opposite of what's happening here! The Project of Seven was delivered to two Oracles (or whatever) in full form and could act as redundancy. This is incomplete and even time wasting!"

"You're right, Kori. But I'm sure the Ladies of Fate have their reasons."

More like the author will retcon a flimsy reason, but yeah, okay. "Anyway, what I'm more worried about is my 'sins'. I'll have to atone for my sins, and _twice_. Do the Greeks have an exhaustive list of what's considered a sin? Because I'll have to check some things I did on game nights and sleepovers."

"Firstly, I'll have to keep a closer eye on you," Dad says, "Secondly, remember my Great Prophecy? Don't assume everybody in the poem is you. _Some_ female demigod—maybe even your enemy—will sin and atone. You have to defeat a 'poppet' anyway, and I'm hoping it'll turn out to be a cute eight-something girl with family-issues."

"It can mean a doll used for witchcraft, too," Chiron warns again, "Symbolically, it can refer to a pawn or a subordinate of the enemy, or it can refer to a loved one who has been turned evil."

"Hmm."

We break through the tree line and Chiron slows down for just a moment to tell a kid to announce he's called for a Senior Counsel before starting the 'gallop' again. In another second he stops in front of the Big House and we dismount. His wheelchair was kept ready so he losses the horse legs without killing time and we go in. Chiron tells us to get settled while he checks if he has any relevant scrolls/files.

We take the guest seats at the ping-pong table in the rec room. I'm trying to guess how the campers will react to Dad returning with me and the prophecy, when he speaks up, continuing the conversation from earlier. "And Kori, remember this: If I'm brain controlled into fighting you, show whoever's controlling me that it doesn't affect you. Pretend that's it's like any normal fight. Then they'll have to resort to normal hostage tactics and hurt me to bait you, which means they'll have to remove the evil bit. _Then_ you can rescue me. No dropping your weapons because you won't fight me, okay?"

"Not okay," I say firmly.

"But you'll do it anyway?"

I shake my head with finality. "Nope. I'll try to un-brainwash you, try to turn you back into yourself, _not_ give them a reason to hurt you more."

He sighs resignedly, looks at the ceiling, closes his eyes. "I didn't wanna do this, but I will. I swear on the Styx that I will kill myself before capture if Kori doesn't stick to the plan I just said."

Thunder booms outside and above.

"What— _Why?!_ "

He opens his eyes and looks at me. "Now you'll have to follow the plan. I'm gonna pretend to be optimistic and _not_ kill myself before capture. Then, if you don't do what I said, my oath will be broken, and I'll have to spend my afterlife in the scalding waters of the Styx. I know your generation has a lot more dark jokes than mine, but I don't think you'll let my afterlife be that. Will you?"

Fuck. He knows me: I'm him. He knows if he'd forced me to swear I'd have broken it in a heartbeat. But my dad's done so much for me, been so supportive— I can't let him suffer for eternity like that, I _can't_. The villains will hurt him to bait me, sure, but the Styx is more permanent, more painful.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"I know."

I wipe my eyes furiously; I'm too teary for this time of the day. Hell, total strangers are doing to flood this room any minute now. My first impression can _not_ be a sentimental girl who's crying after getting a prophecy.

He realises that too, and places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it comfortingly. "Hey c'mon now, cheer up! I'm still betting on the 'little girl' meaning. and you should too. Maybe we'll defeat her with the power of love or something."

That makes me laugh despite myself. "Make her turn from the Dark side?"

Dad smirks and is about to add a quip of his own when the door opens. A man approximately my father's age with black hair and olive skin appears in the doorway. "Hey, Not-My-Type, long time no see."

Nico di Angelo. Uncle Nico who is also technically my stepbrother. I didn't think I'd recognise him when I first met him, but the 'not my type' joke is pretty telling.

Dad gets up from his chair and goes to him. "Hey, Mythomagic-Fanboy, long time no see," he retorts.

"Piss off Jackson, it saved your ass so many times on quests. You didn't know half the monsters you faced and I had to fill it in for you."

Both men break out into laughter and embrace. "It's good to see you Neeks. What's up?"

Stepping out of the hug, Nico says, "Nothing much. Me and Will have fallen into this routine of training kids and saving kids. It's pretty boring, but it's what _we_ needed as kids, so we do it for them." Uncle and Dad takes their seats. "Speaking of kids, who is this that you've brought here with you to a Senior Counsel?"

"Nico di Angelo, meet Kori Jackson, daughter of Persephone and legacy of Poseidon and Zeus. And the girl who's just been given one half of a Great Prophecy."

Uncle Nico somehow doesn't look as taken aback as I expect new people would be on hearing that. All he says is "You know that you're screwed, right?"

"I am well aware of it."

"And one half of a Great Prophecy? What do you mean, Percy?"

"Exactly that, Mr di Angelo," Chiron says, having returned from his information digging, "More on that in a minute, though. The other head counselors are here and about to come in; I do not wish that prophecy uttered any more times than is necessary."

Uncle Nico raises an eyebrow at Dad but doesn't press. As Chiron said, the campers start filing in at once. If they're shocked to see Percy Jackson sitting in the guest seat with a frankly awesome looking fourteen-year-old, they do not let it show. Either these campers have seen a lot of shit in their time, or they simply don't recognise him and ignore me and my awesomeness.

A few blond kids come in holding chairs for themselves and take seats behind the blond guy sitting two down from Chiron at the head on his right. I can guess that those are Athena kids come to help with understanding the prophecy. Things have improved in camp since the events of canon, it seems.

By the time chiffon starts to call for silence, the room is almost overcrowded with only five seats empty—Mr D and the counselors for Cabins 1, 2, 3 and 8. Which means Poseidon and Zeus have been faithful since Jason. Chiron nods at Dad and he moves to the Cabin 3 seat while I take my chair to beside him.

Chiron introduces us before the campers can figure our for themselves. "This is Percy Jackson, one of the Heroes of Olympus, and his daughter Kori, daughter of the goddess Persephone."

You can imagine the amount of whispers that result. The ones I hear are mostly "Son of Poseidon? *le gasp*" and "Daughter of Persephone? *le bigger gasp*"

Chiron shushes them and continues. "She is the subject of the Great Prophecy glimpsed at by Lord Apollo four years ago and Ms Rachel Dare a week ago, and the Grove of Dodona has given her half of the prophecy today."

More chaos: "The one with multiple powers?", "She has all the Big Three's powers?!", "Half of a prophecy?!", "Is the Grove acting up again?"

"Yes to all. Lady Persephone, being Queen of the Underworld, has passed her powers over the dead to Ms Kori, and Perseus has passed his Poseidon powers too. Mr Jackson and his daughter are also thirty-seventh generation legacies of Lord Zeus and for some mystically reason those powers have manifested in Ms Kori."

The room falls silent, and I can't decide if it's good or bad yet. Chiron goes on. "The Grove _is_ acting up, Ms Gardiner. The trees that you need to check are called Jeff and Dan, apparently."

Miranda Gardiner scowls. "Dan is the absolute worst. I'll pray to Rhea to give his prophecies to some other tree."

"And finally, the half a prophecy delivered today. These are the lines:

 _Olympus' thrice will wield the broken sword  
_ _And face deathless martyrs long abhorred  
For her sins the halfblood must doubly atone  
To defeat the poppet before the quick crone._

"The sacred oak also said that this was only the second half of the prophecy. Malcolm, you can start now."

Oh, so _that's_ who the Athena head counselor is! Malcolm Pace, once Annabeth Chase's second-in-command, doesn't start immediately. He sorta huddles with the other Athenians and discusses for a minute or two, during which the entire room fidgets, quiets, fidgets, quiets. I have a few complaints with whoever decided ADHD was a good thing to give to demigods. (I know it's Uncle Rick, and I know he meant well, but it's _annoying_ for those who have to live it! And with so many in a confined space!)

Malcolm calls for attention and begins. "First things first, the Oracles of Delphi and Dodona _combined_ have given half of the Great Prophecy, which means the remainder will most probably come from the Sibylline Books tattooed on General Tyson's body. Tina and Liam have started on the transport issue already.

"Next, the prophecy itself. It's not a limerick, which is good. But it's a quatrain, so it's not _very_ good. The third line is the most clear one: Some demigoddess will sin or has already sinned and she'll atone for those sins. Next simplest is the opening line: Barring a poetic sentence structure or _absence_ of an apostrophe, we can safely assume it refers to Kori and that she'll wield some broken sword. We're searching for what can that be right now.

"Line two: Some undead or immortal martyrs—who are also hated—are to be faced. This can mean martyrs who were misunderstood and wrongly hated, or who fell for the enemies of the gods and are rightly hated. The 'to face' verb also provides ambiguity. The final line is straightforward: Defeat the poppet, then defeat the quick crone. We're searching for who those two can be."

That's... thorough. I take back what I said in the title: Camp Half-Blood is _extremely_ helpful. I don't know why I thought Camp would be as haphazard as in the canon books—They've matured very much, having survived two Great Prophecies, and thus perfected questing and stuff.

Also, the Athena cabin has done most of the work. If this was how this was gonna go down, why call the other cabins in the first place?

What happens next answers that question.

"Good work, Mr Pace," Chiron says, "Eric, let's get through the list. We'll discuss only the quest to get the first part of the prophecy, since we cannot predict the nature of the greater quest yet."

Malcolm turns his chair around to talk more to his cabin. As to Eric, I didn't notice it before but there's a scrawny satyr sitting behind Chiron's wheelchair, in the shadows. He looks like a meek scribe, thirteen in human years. He stands and comes to the table now and reads off from his legal pad.

"The first item on the list is to fill up the appropriate number of questers, which is three, if unspecified."

I speak up before the campers can declare their unwillingness to go on a probably-deadlier-than-usual quest. "Me and Dad are going to Camp Jupiter. I would like it if Uncle Nico would come with us to train my Underworld powers. But except that, I don't _need_ a third quester."

"Nico with us will be mean more demigods scent to attract monsters, but training's important too. What do you say, Nico?"

Uncle Nico shrugs. "Fine by me. Best case, I'm there and back in like three days. Will?" I get the feeling that Will's opinion matters more to him than Hades', as it should, seeing as the demigod's done much more for him than the god.

Will Solace looks at me and then at him, twice, thrice, and nods. "Tell Frazel hi for me."

"So... that's decided," Eric says, "Next task is ongoing quests that may clash with the one in question."

It's Chiron who answers now. "There are none, Eric."

"Then we move onto... Plan B and C and the others. Subitems are deadline, rendezvous and communications."

"You did not think this through, Chiron," says one of the campers I haven't recognised yet.

The centaur exhales and nods. "You're right, we don't need everybody for this. Nico and Cabin 6, stay. All the others, go back to your activities."

As they start shuffling out noisily, I raise an eyebrow at Chiron and he explains, "Normally we call the entire Senior Counsel together for a pre-quest meeting. That's to make sure previous public or secret quests don't hurt the current quest, and rendezvous points and backups are more widely known. The questers are also chosen during these meetings. We also contact the Romans for such things.

"In your case, the questers are already chosen, the quest doesn't go near any ongoing ones, and the Romans are where you are headed, meaning the presence of the other head counselors and contacting the Romans are both unnecessary. And as for the deadline, communications and rendezvous points, I can simply tell you them, because campers make this journey often."

"We also need to start shoring up our defenses, Chiron," Uncle Nico says as the last of the head counselors trickle out, "If this is really a Great Prophecy, we'd better be prepared."

"I will discuss war preparation with Mr Yang once you three are safely away," he assures.

"Uh, Chiron? We're done with the transport," Malcolm says. Chiron waves him like _Go on,_ and he details what they've calculated. "Based on previous data, the quickest and easiest way to get across the country with _this_ particular triplet is if Nico makes three maximum shadow travel jumps carrying Percy and Kori, while Mrs O'Leary makes two of _her_ maximum shadow travel jumps to meet them halfway and then carries them back to Camp Jupiter to the Sibylline Books in two similar jumps."

That sounds good, but... "Can't Mrs O'Leary just bring the Books—I mean, Uncle Tyson and maybe even Ella—to us midway?"

"Tyson's not a small Cyclops anymore, Kori," Chiron says, "This will be simpler and less wasteful. You need to go to the Roman camp anyway. Their libraries are more vast than ours."

"It's decided, then," Malcolm says as his half-siblings get up and start to leave, "Contact us from Camp Jupiter after you get the full prophecy. We'll figure this part out along with that one together with the Romans."

"Yeah, okay. I'll contact you and whip the Senate for extra measure. Just don't let the kids arrange a death race before you hear from us and all will be good. I know the deadlines and rendezvous points too, so don't worry."

"Besides," Dad says, "as Chiron said, this is stupid simple. There's no way we're gonna screw up seven shadow travel jumps!"

"Aaand you've jinxed it. Congrats Perce."

Shit. How much action is waiting for us in the next chapter?

* * *


	4. Long Travel; Short Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more than half joke. I didn't want to right a filler and it plays into the fourth-wall-break pretty well.

* * *

_Nothing_ happens on the trip from Camp Half-Blood to Camp Jupiter. Kinda anticlimactic after last chapter's 'jinx' dialogue, but what can you do?

Literally the most eventful thing that happens is Mrs O'Leary giving me a solid stereotypical doggie greeting and me having to scrub the saliva off. So I'm gonna summarise the trip for ya.

As per Cabin 6's plan Uncle Nico thrice shadow travelled us the maximum distance he could in one go, taking twenty minutes to recuperate each time. He spent thirty minutes total instructing me in Underworld Basics, while Dad took the ten remaining for my Poseidon training. To everyone's relief and confusion, I am still unable to summon Zeus powers and didn't even summon them accidentally.

Mrs O'Leary met us somewhere in Nebraska. She's unchanged, bounding to Dad, then Uncle Nico, tackling them both and giving them a warm and wet welcome. She then sniffed me, looked at Dad for confirmation, and gave me the same treatment. Thankfully my water magic is good enough that I was able to summon some water to wash myself.

Mrs O'Leary shadow travelled in two straight jumps without down-time, apparently more adept at it than the King of Ghosts, and got us to our destination just after nightfall. Which should remind you that all the events in this fic up to this point _have all been within twenty-four hours._ My life has been redesigned and the day's not over yet.

Anyway, Mrs O'Leary got us just inside the entrance to Camp Jupiter, the one Misted to look like a maintenance tunnel. She ran off toward the camp proper below and currently we three—though it's mostly just me—are staring at the prosperous city and militarised camp in the valley.

 **TL;DR** : Uncle Nico, Dad and me (and later Mrs O'Leary) shadow travel from CHB to the Romans.

See you in the next chapter.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This will be slow and steady, so remember to subscribe!


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